9. Mari #2
"You knew who I was when you hired me."
"I knew you were dangerous. I didn't know I'd like it this much."
Four days later, Dr. Patel confirms Knox's shoulder is settling as expected, repeats that he is not to train or lift with it, and makes no ruling on what consenting adults may do in a bed provided nobody lands on his right shoulder.
I consider this practically an endorsement.
He's been staying at my apartment because his house feels too far from the Pit and because neither of us is interested in pretending we're returning to separate lives. Tonight, he comes out of the shower with damp hair, low-slung sweatpants, and the fading map of the fight across his body.
The bruises are yellowing at the edges. The shoulder is stable. His ribs hurt only when he laughs, which means I've been trying not to be funny.
He stops beside the bed. "You keep looking at me like you're planning something."
"I am."
"What kind of plan?"
I reach for the waistband of his sweatpants. "One that starts with these coming off."
His hand closes around my wrist. "Mari, I meant what I said at the gym. I want time."
"We have all night."
The look in his eyes changes.
He bends and kisses me slowly, one hand cupping my jaw, the other settling at my waist. With no adrenaline or countdown to a fight between us, he takes my mouth as though this is the first time he can afford to notice every response.
I pull his shirt over his head, careful of the taped shoulder. My fingertips follow the scar, then move lower over his chest and stomach.
"Does anything hurt?"
"Not where you're touching."
"That wasn't the question."
"Shoulder's sore. Ribs are bruised. Neither stops me."
"You stop if it changes."
"Yes, boss."
"I'm your business partner now. Use the correct title."
He laughs, winces, and I point at him.
"Evidence."
"Worth it."
He pushes me gently onto the bed and undresses me with maddening patience. Shirt first. Bra. Jeans drawn down my legs while his mouth follows the exposed skin of my stomach and hip.
When I'm naked, he sits back and looks at me.
He isn't assessing or preparing. He's simply loving me.
The tenderness is almost harder to bear than the hunger.
"Come here," I say.
He lies beside me instead of over me, protecting his shoulder, and kisses my throat. His hand moves over my ribs, waist, and the curve of my hip. He cups my breast, rolls my nipple between his fingers, then takes it into his mouth until I arch toward him.
"Knox."
"Tell me what you want."
"Your hands. Your mouth. Then you inside me."
"Specific. I like it."
"You already knew that."
His mouth travels down my body. He kisses below my navel, the crease of my hip, the inside of my thigh. Then he settles between my legs and looks up.
"Anything else?"
"Stop talking and put your mouth on me."
His tongue slides flat over my clit.
I grip the sheets.
He doesn't tease tonight. He gives me firm, slow strokes, holding my thighs open with his forearms. Two fingers push inside, curling against the spot that makes my hips lift. His mouth closes around my clit and the first orgasm builds with ruthless speed.
"Don't stop," I gasp.
He doesn't.
The release rolls through me, deep and shaking, my fingers tangled in his damp hair. Knox works me through it until I drag him upward by the shoulders.
I taste myself on his mouth when I kiss him.
My hand moves between us, pushing his sweatpants down. His cock is hard and heavy in my palm. I stroke slowly, watching control tighten across his face.
"Mari."
"Tell me if anything hurts."
"This is the opposite of hurting."
I guide him onto his back so the shoulder stays supported, then straddle his hips. His hands settle on my thighs.
"You sure?" he asks.
"I control the angle."
"Of course you do."
I sink onto him slowly.
The stretch steals my breath. Knox's fingers tighten on my thighs, but he lets me set the pace. I take him deeper, inch by inch, until my hips meet his and he's filling me completely.
"Fuck," he says softly. "You feel so good."
I begin to move.
Slow at first. A roll of my hips that drags him against every sensitive place. His left hand slides up my stomach and cups my breast. The right stays careful at my hip.
There is no chain link rattling, no clock, no fight waiting. Only the bed shifting beneath us and Knox watching me as though pleasure is another truth he doesn't intend to look away from.
I brace one hand on his chest and move faster.
"Touch yourself," he says. "I want to feel you come on my cock."
I slide my fingers between us and find my clit. His gaze drops to my hand, eyes darkening.
The pressure gathers again, slower this time. Deeper. I grind down while my fingers circle, his cock rubbing the spot his mouth left aching.
"That's it," he says. "Use me."
The words push me closer.
I ride him harder. Knox lifts his hips carefully to meet me, giving me more without jarring the shoulder. His hand moves from my breast to the back of my neck and pulls me down for a kiss.
"I love you," he says against my mouth.
The orgasm breaks before I can answer. My body locks around him, every pulse drawing a rough groan from his chest.
He turns us with controlled care, keeping his right arm protected, and settles between my thighs. Then he drives into me deep and steady while the aftershocks are still moving through me.
"Again," he says.
"Greedy."
"A year and a half. I'm behind."
I laugh, and this time he doesn't wince.
He hooks my left leg higher and changes the angle. Each thrust lands exactly where I need it. My nails score his back. His forehead drops to mine, breath hot across my lips.
"Harder," I whisper.
He gives me harder without losing control.
The third climax rises quickly, built on everything still sensitive. I wrap both legs around him and pull him deeper.
"Come with me," I say.
His rhythm breaks. I feel him swell, hear my name leave him as I come again, clenching around his cock while he pulses inside me.
For a long time afterward, neither of us moves.
Then Knox shifts carefully to my side and pulls me against him with his left arm.
I rest my cheek over his heart.
"Mémère would have liked you," I say.
"You sure?"
"No. She distrusted handsome men with quiet voices."
"Smart woman."
"But she respected anybody who knew when to walk away from a winning hand."
His fingers move through my hair. "I didn't walk away."
"You did in the cage. When the fight was won."
He goes quiet.